Andrew David Dalby
This Entreaty is mine
Through faults line dominion
Like a mad fool king,
With deep aching rage I stand;
Fighting for the right to be loved.
Is it so unfair a thing that I ask?
Is love... love... pure selfless love,
Nothing more than an aching
need within me?
Or am I like the delicate angel,
Who sings of the sweet and gentle
Yet is nothing other than an echo,
From a dry and dusty hymnal,
Thrown to the floor,
On a mid september morn...
No I say!
And No again!
For I am more than that...
I am created,
Born out of desire,
Thrust into life,
I scream my own precious melody
for all the world to hear...
In doing so,
Feel deep satisfaction,
in her tender loving kiss.
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(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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